Tea and Breakfast
by Ellanorrr
Summary: Will visits Hannibal for breakfast, and finds himself asking for Hannibal's help stop his sleepwalking. Hannibal's suggestion, though unorthodox, is tempting. Could it put Will's mind to rest? One shot, based on the mushroom tea Hannibal give Abigail. Let me know what you think! (Disclaimer: I own none of the characters)


**AN: This is based on the TV Show Hannibal. I do not own any of the characters used. I hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think!**

"Alana said you gave Abigail a sedative?" Will asked, his brow slightly furrowed, but his voice calm and level, as he walked into the kitchen, following Hannibal, whose back was currently turned away from him. Will became suddenly aware of how out of place he looked; his unshaven morning stubble, flannel shirt and slumped posture made him feel wrong next to Hannibal, who, although it was only early in the morning, was already cleanly shaven, wide awake, and dressed in a grey suit and tie. Hannibal turned back towards Will, slowly, once he reached the counter.  
"She was stressed. She couldn't sleep. I needed to help her to deal with the memories of her father." Hannibal said, plainly, folding his apron, delicately and placing it on the worktop.  
"How – how is she?" Will asked, looking at the floor uncomfortably.  
"She is getting better." Hannibal replied, revealing a bowl of the protein scramble Will liked so much.  
"Breakfast?" Hannibal asked. Will nodded, rubbing his eyes, as he took off his glasses.

They sat opposite each other at the table.  
"You look tired, Will," said Hannibal.  
"Yeah…" Will murmured, pushing his food around the bowl, not looking up at Hannibal. He still avoided eye contact.  
"Have you not been sleeping?" He asked. Will looked up. He caught Hannnibal's eye, immediately regretting it. Hannibal was sitting with perfect calm posture, eyes intently fixed on Will with a serene, knowing look.  
"It stops me sleepwalking." Will answered, quietly.  
"You were sleepwalking every night?" Hannibal asked. Will nodded.  
"You find yourself outside of your home, or on the roof; you have no recollection of how you got there, only the feeling that you are there for a reason." Will said nothing, but didn't start his food either. "You aren't worried about hurting yourself. The roof didn't scare you. You're worried about hurting someone else. That you have devoted to memory the killing of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and know you could do it again, with ease."

Will looked up, defiantly.  
"Are you suggesting I would find it _easy _to kill someone?" He asked, disbelievingly.  
"Did it not feel like the most simple, natural thing to do in your circumstance?"  
"I didn't… I didn't _enjoy_ it. Nothing felt _right _about it." Will snapped.  
"No? But he would have killed his daughter, and he would have killed many more if you hadn't." Will didn't respond. "But you still can't come to terms with that. Which is why you are worried your subconscious disagrees."  
"My subconscious doesn't –" Will began, but cut himself off abruptly; he couldn't waste any more energy arguing with Hannibal.  
"Eat. The food is something both you and your subconscious can agree on." Hannibal smirked.

When he had nearly finished his meal, Will looked up to find Hannibal watching him again.  
"When you psychoanalyse me when I eat, you make me wonder why I'm here." Will said bluntly, mouth half full. "This is really good by the way."  
"Then that answers the question of why you are here." Hannibal said.  
"I guess it does."  
"Though I sense you have another reason." Hannibal continued.  
"That's psychoanalysing." Will said; his voice was still slightly muffled by the food in his mouth. He pushed his knife and fork together forcefully. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back to look at Hannibal. He couldn't hold eye contact for long, before he started glancing around the room.  
"So what… this sedative you gave Abigail, did it work?" Will asked, tentatively, a hesitant expression on his face. Hannibal smiled.  
"Yes."  
"So she slept. She slept after that?"  
"Not immediately. She sat; we talked, and we ate dinner with Doctor Bloom. And then she went back, and she slept." Hannibal said.  
"So it worked," Will said. He looked relieved. He felt a little of his guilt become lighter.  
"You could try some. If you wish to." Will looked reluctant.  
"What was in it?"  
"Just a light sedative. All natural. Come back this evening." Hannibal stood up, pushing back his chair.

Will declined. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered Hannibal's suggestion, but there was still something about the doctor that made him feel uneasy. Although he'd helped Abigail, and of course Will was grateful, seeing as he felt somehow responsible for her state of mind, despite the constant assurance that it was her murderous and cannibalistic father who had caused this, there was something about a man who so readily gave a sedative to a young girl, off the record. During his lectures, the urge to sleep felt close to overpowering Will, yet when he returned home that night, after greeting and feeding his dogs, and eating some cold take-out from the refrigerator, when he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, his mind was too awake to sleep. When he did manage to sleep, he awoke drenched in sweat, and standing at the door of his house. The dogs' barking had awoken him. He bent down and stroked the dog, but even the dog moved away slightly at Will's cold, clammy touch. Will sighed. All of a sudden, his mind felt wide awake, while his body felt as though it was dragging an anchor behind him.

It took three more nights before Will showed up at Hannibal's home at dusk. His pride was beaten not by the night he found himself in the bathroom, having run (and allowed to overflow) an ice cold bath, but by the night he awoke holding a knife and with his hand on the kitchen door. Hannibal had been expecting him. He answered the door, still dressed as he had been all day, gesturing for Will to come in, not doubting why he was there.  
"The sleeping troubles have become worse?"  
Will nodded. "I am glad. You wouldn't want your work to suffer." As they entered the kitchen, Hannibal swept a little red notebook from the table top and into the cupboards below.  
"Recipe book?" Will asked. Hannibal looked at him and smiled.  
"Yes."  
"Tea?" Hannibal asked. Will nodded. "Take a seat." Hannibal gestured to a seat in the corner, facing the worktops of the kitchen, by which Hannibal stood. Will sat down.

It didn't take long for the "tea" to take effect. At first it was just a general giddy feeling, but then it turned into a nausea mixed with an uncontrollable dizziness. His vision swam in and out of focus. Just as Will thought he was seeing clearly, the colours would blend and the image would retreat away from him. It cleared. He saw Hannibal standing at his counter. He was holding a knife. He looked concerned. Then there was blood all over the worktops. Will leapt up from his seat, moving quickly backwards. Hannibal was cutting up sections of meat with the knife. There were lungs, there was a liver… He looked down, to his horror finding a human body, suddenly at his feet. Abigail Hobbs was lying on the floor, throat slashed, blood pouring out. Hannibal continued cutting, oblivious. Will looked back to the floor, but Abigail's body was gone. The floor was clean. Will was halfway through a sigh of relief, reassured that it had been a hallucination, when he looked up at Hannibal once again, but instead, saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs' face, grinning menacingly. Instinctively, Will reached to the waistband of his jeans, pulling out his gun. His hands were shaking; his eyes darting back and forth between Garrett Jacob Hobbs and the spot where Abigail had been. He fired several shots. Eyes closed.

Now Will stood where Hannibal, and where Garrett Jacob Hobbs had stood before. He held Hannibal's little red recipe book in one hand, a knife in the other; his gun was in a puddle of blood on the counter.  
"This is my design..." Will heard his own voice say.

There was a harsh, strained almost animalistic sound from the doorway ahead of him.  
"Don't move!" He yelled frantically, picking up the gun, staining his hands vermilion in the process. He pointed the gun towards the open doorway which opened up to a wall, while the corridor swung around the corner. His fingers twitched around the gun, still wet with blood. An antler shaped shadow appeared around the doorway. Holding the gun out in front of him with both hands, he moved tentatively but urgently towards the doorway, swerving quietly around the corners of the work surfaces. He was within a metre of the door. Suddenly, there was the echoing sound of hooves on a hard surface, and the shadow vanished. Will spun around. He was alone in the room. He peered around the corner. Nothing. He sighed, lowering the gun. When he turned back, he met the eyes of Hannibal, less than a foot away from him. Will raised the gun immediately, stopping when the barrel touched the chest of Hannibal's pristine grey suit.

"Will." His calm, slow voice said. Will hesitated, then let his hands fall back to his side.  
"Will." Hannibal repeated.

Will woke up. He was still in the chair where Hannibal had instructed him to sit. Hannibal was in front of him, dressed differently, wearing a different suit. Light streamed in through partially opened blinds.

"You were asleep. Breakfast?" Hannibal asked, holding out a plate. It smelt delicious.


End file.
